Fate's Card
by Sketchy Cannabis
Summary: Postwar Voldemort won. Draco is V.’s right hand, and he earns Hermione in exchange. But with a blooming relationship, and plots that run deep, how will the cards land when the dust is settled?
1. I've Got More Wit

Title: Fate's Card

Rating: M (Nothing major yet, but there are some adultish undertones in later chapters)

Summary: Post-war; Voldemort won. Draco is V.'s right hand, and he earns Hermione in exchange. But with a blooming relationship, and plots that run deep, how will the cards land when the dust is settled?

Author: Sketchy Cannabis -- Started 6/17/06

Disclaimers: Harry Potter is not mine; I wish. The chapter titles belong to Panic! At the Disco, not me. (Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off.)

Chapter One -- I've Got More Wit

"Take her. I've never been interested in half-bred wenches"

Those were the words which sent Hermione tumbling towards Draco. She was barely aware of the world around her. Though Voldemort hadn't been interested in her for her body, he'd had her mind tortured extensively. He'd needed proof Harry was dead, and he'd gotten it. Multiple times, wrenching it from her mind time and time again. She relived it each time -- and she was sure he knew that.

Now since she wasn't needed, she was being tossed off to Draco. Did he want her? She didn't know. Maybe Voldemort knew something she didn't. She coughed as Draco gripped her arm tightly. She couldn't see his face. "Thank you, my liege." My liege? Hermione let out a weak laugh, but it only came out as more coughing.

"Get her out of my sight." That voice was ingrained so deeply on her subconscious that she shivered involuntarily as Draco pulled her away from the room roughly. She couldn't remember the way out of this hell hole now. She had at one time, before all the mind games had started. Before the nightmares had consumed her so fully. She'd run over the way they had brought her into this dank place over and over again. It was all she could do to keep the crying from starting, back then. Most times, she didn't care. If she cried, they laughed, and stopped, just a little sooner, sometimes. And crying felt good. Sometimes. Nothing was constant in this place except the scent of fear that lingered on all her fellow Order members.

She hadn't seen any of them in weeks. She'd seen Oliver sometime back; she couldn't remember how long ago. She remembered that he'd looked worse off than she did, which was saying something. He'd never been a main player; they had little need of him. Last she'd seen, he'd been attached to Bellatrix's side by an invisible chain that only she and he knew existed. He was just another trophy for her shelf.

Her wrists hurt, and she whimpered when Draco changed his grip on her arm. "Stop whining, Granger. The worst is over, if you care to believe it." His tone made her stumble a little bit on her footing. How could the worse be over? She wasn't needed now. They didn't need to make sure she remained alive. But maybe he was right. Maybe she could die now. A high pitched giggle escaped her then, muffled only slightly by her hand. Oh, yes, dying. Now wouldn't that be fun?

They passed through a door and Draco slammed it behind him, pushing her forward. It took her a moment to realize what it was she was leaning against. She pet the blanket slowly, the hazy fog in her mind clearing for a second. This, this is what they meant for her. To warm Draco's bed, to be his trophy. She slid down the bed, watching Draco pace around the room. She could hear water running in a room off to the side, could hear him pushing things around as though searching for things.

"C'mon Granger, off with the clothes"

She froze, looking up at him. "No - no, no, no, no, no." Her voice was barely above a whisper, cracking and faltering in and out. She hadn't done anything but scream in such a long time.

Draco looked at her with disgust for a moment before removing her clothing. "If you're worried about me, you shouldn't be. I wouldn't touch anything as dirty as you even if Voldemort ordered me to." The disgust in his look had leaked into his voice. Venom touched Voldemort's name.

Hermione watched dumbly as he removed her clothing quickly, with an almost clinical touch. His fingers lingered on a large cut down her side, that had just started to scab over. "Dear Merlin," a small whisper escaped Draco's lips as he watched her flinch. Dried blood was smeared around various other wounds, and all was for him to see. Hermione closed her eyes briefly. She felt embarrassed. Naked, and oh so vulnerable feeling, Hermione watched with her brown doe eyes wide. Gently, so gently she cringed for fear of more pain, Draco lifted her into his arms, carrying her into the bathroom, laying her in the hot water.

It hurt so deliciously. Hermione closed her eyes, moaning as she was submerged into the water. It'd been months since she'd been anywhere near warm water. It burned her skin, searing along all the small cuts and welts, healed to different degrees. After the first moment of pain though, she settled down lower into the water, oblivious to Draco, who stood above her, watching with eyebrows raised. It felt like her very bones were melting into water as she lounged in the bath.

Through half-closed cat eyes, she watched as Draco took some shampoo in his hands and scrubbed it into her hair. He was muttering about something, she knew, but she couldn't tell what. This was the safest she'd felt in such a long time, it didn't matter. If she was safe and clean for only this small piece of time, she was okay with that. It was worth it. Draco was rinsing her hair, so gentle. She sighed again, feeling muscles that hadn't relaxed in weeks slowly unclench. She remembered him using half a bottle of conditioner on her hair, smoothing it in, pulling his fingers through the mess of hair slowly, coaxing out the stiff rat nests with sugar rather than spice. When he started to wash her body though, she tensed up. He was touching her, and she didn't like it. When people started touching her, things usually didn't turn out well, for her, anyhow. Draco did only what was needed, frowning as the water turned a dank red colour from the dried blood he softly cleaned off her.

And then he was gone. Hermione opened her eyes, having closed them when he was rinsing out the conditioner. The water was almost chilly, but it still felt pleasant. And it's not like he'd told her she had to get out, right? She turned on the faucet, running her face and hair under it for a moment before turning it off almost reluctantly.

There was a towel laid by the tub, and she looked around cautiously before grabbing it and hurriedly wrapping it around her. Fingertips traced lightly over the comb that was laid on the counter, before Hermione looked up. She gaped at the reflection in the mirror. Lately, she'd been too concerned about surviving to really care about her appearance. The towel hung limply from around her chest. She hadn't realized how much weight she'd really lost until now. She looked diseased. Her cheeks sunk in, and her usually semi-glamorous hair had lost all shine and health. It was cut raggedly, uneven and torn in places where someone had pulled too hard. Her fingers brushed her cheek as she closed her mouth.

She was crying, and over such a silly thing. After all she'd been through, she cried at this: at this lack of beauty that she could not recognize. Another of the ways they destroyed her. She could hear the screams in her head, but she'd never seen this part until this moment. She shut her eyes, trying to block it out. Hoping that when she opened her eyes she'd see something that was familiar. Not this stranger in the mirror, this woman with dark eyes and shadows dancing in them. This woman who resembled more the dead than the living.  
When she opened her eyes, she squeaked. She hadn't even heard Draco come up behind her. He was standing silently, watching her in the mirror. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, those grey eyes ever quiet and blank. He reached around her for the comb, taking it and starting at the ends of her hair. For a moment, as he stared at the hair he was so tenderly combing, she thought she saw anger. It took a long time to comb out her hair. The whole time, Hermione held perfectly still, shifting her weight from foot to foot, moving only when told. Her hands clutched at the top of the towel. After Draco had finished the last section, he set the comb down, picking up a pair of scissors. Hermione squeaked. She knew she had to cut it. Parts of her hair fell past the middle of her back, while others barely reached her shoulders.

Draco cut it slowly and precisely. He cut it only as short as he had to, a kindness that was unexpected. Hermione didn't know whether it was because he preferred long hair on her, or because he knew how she liked her hair. In the end, he'd evened out her hair to shoulder length. A few pieces were shorter, but generally unnoticeable unless you were looking for them. Hermione stared at the bathroom floor, her eyes closed.

She felt him leave. He had a certain warmth that had kept her back cozy. She shivered, drying herself in a hurry and putting on the clothes he'd left for her. It was a simple shirt, one of his from Hogwarts, if she recalled correctly. She remembered he'd been teasing her about something, and she'd thrown ice cream on it. She felt tears well up. That's when Ron and Harry had been alive. Before the final confrontation that had left them all reeling. And now, at 22, she had so little to live for. But live she did, and she figured she'd know why eventually. That's how things worked.

The clothes were comfortable, and in one piece. Something she generally enjoyed in her clothing. She left the bathroom warily, almost fearfully. Draco was sprawled on the bed, reading something. When he noticed her, standing in the doorway, looking awkward, he beckoned her to the bed.

"Now that you're decent, we can talk." He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, watching her as she arranged herself on the edge of the bed. "You're mine now, and that can work to the best for the both of us. There are a couple rules about it all, but they're easy, and I actually think you'll appreciate them." He paused, marking his page and closing the book. "Rule number one. You sleep in my bed. You aren't required to do anything else in my bed unless you want. I deal with enough rape during the day that I don't want to invite it into my room. Rule number two. No leaving unless I'm with you. It's not safe, and I'd rather not come home to find you in pieces." Seeing her expression at that, he smiled faintly. "You're not the first I've owned, Granger." He tapped his fingers on his book and then glanced back up at her. "I'll bring whatever foodstuff you request, and all I ask is that you cook dinner on nights when I'll be home. There'll be plenty when I'm not, so it shouldn't be all that hard. You may go anywhere in my quarters, just clean up after yourself. Don't answer the door. Anyone who's knocking is just trouble waiting to happen." Glancing up at her, he frowned, reaching a hand out to brush against her cheek lightly. "Things are different now, Granger." He sighed, shoulders slumping oh so faintly. "Sometimes, I think things will never be better. Sometimes… I know I was wrong." He looked up, the creases of worry and stress lining his face. "We're all so different now. It's just how it goes." Slowly, he rolled off the bed, going about the room, shutting off the lights slowly, one by one. Hermione noticed faintly that the clock by his bed read 11. "Lights out, Granger"

Draco stood next to the bed, stripping off his clothing, until he stood naked in front of her. Hermione could feel her cheeks flushing. Quickly, she pulled back the blankets, getting into the bed, and facing away from Draco. She could hear him chuckling as he slid into the bed, all grace and beauty. Her cheeks still burned, the image of his naked profile caught in her mind's eye. How he was still so pale, thin and wiry, muscles obvious on his arms, chest, and legs. How he was nearly hairless under all that clothing, and all of it simply resembled a soft down. She bit her lip, curling up. The bed felt so soft. So… very soft.

A/N: Just wanted to mention, if anyone has a better title, let me know. Suggestions are welcome. I'm not terribly sure where I'm going with this, and am nervous slightly about posting it up... xX; I've got a few more chapters written, but we'll just have to see. Review, please, if you'd like to see more. If not, I'll be pretty slow about posting up more chapters.


	2. A Better Kiss

Chapter Two -- A Better Kiss 

The night was a restless one for both of them. Hermione tossed and turned, anxious that at any moment Draco would grab her and do… something. She wasn't sure what she was afraid of more: blunt pain, or other… forced things. Though he'd been brave enough to say the word earlier, she couldn't muster the strength to think it, even if only to herself. Draco laid awake most of the night, listening to her whimper when she did sleep, and toss when she couldn't. When his clock read 9 am, he just couldn't take it anymore. He stood up, stretching. He dressed slowly and languidly. He didn't feel a need to rush simply for Granger's sensibilities. He was content with himself. He figured she'd learn to be, or just keep cringing and blushing. She was cute when she blushed. He could count on his hands how many times he'd seen someone blush in the last few years. People seemed more scared and apt to scream than blush. Draco really did prefer the latter, in all honesty. But you take what you can get.

After a lazy shower, he wandered back to the bed, studying the sleeping form of Hermione. She was so peaceful looking, he noted. He didn't want to wake her, not yet. There was, of course, more to the agreement between them, but they weren't his rules. He hadn't felt a huge need to mention them.

Ah, coffee: elixir of the gods. Draco sipped at a cup, glancing over his delivered issue of the daily news. Voldemort had kept the paper up and running, but it wasn't really worth reading. Since he had his fist clenched tightly around every column writer, nothing was ever interesting. Unless, of course, you called new standards and laws interesting. Voldemort, to Draco's revulsion, was always changing laws, simply to amuse himself. It was grating on his nerves, but he was powerless against it. His history prevented him from doing anything. He was a bad guy. The good guys would never trust him to begin with. Not to mention most of the good guys were dead. That did put a damper on rebellion, didn't it?

Pushing the coffee away from him, he checked the clock again. He figured he'd get his errands done before Granger woke up. Maybe waking up alone would do her some good. He wasn't oblivious to the fact that every time he moved, she froze up like a jackrabbit on a highway.

He grabbed his coat, locking the door. He thought of leaving a brief note to her, but decided after a moments consideration, that she wouldn't care. How could she care? He shook his head as he left, walking down the street in a stately manner. People cowered before him, and in some ways, it made him feel better.  
At least someone respected him.

Hermione opened her eyes slowly. She tried to keep her breathing quiet for fear of waking Malfoy. After a moment she chanced a look to his side of the bed. It took her a moment to realize it was empty. With shaking fingers, she traced the dent his head had left in the pillow. Sitting up, she stretched awkwardly. Her body felt like it'd been ran over by a couple of large trucks. She nibbled on a fingernail as she looked over the clothing she was wearing. While it was comfortable, it was surely not clothing meant to wear while sleeping. Oh well. At least he let her have clothing, she thought to herself. Hearing her stomach grumble, she made her way cat-like into the kitchen.

Most of the food contained was boxed or frozen. But food was food. She settled on a box of mac and cheese that was only a couple months over the expired date, and ate her fill. She'd forgotten how good food could taste.

After that, she didn't know what to do. It'd been so very long since she'd had time to herself. Having found pen and paper in Draco's study, she started to tentatively write out a grocery list. She didn't feel the need to form a budget, as her family had so often done. Everyone in the whole wizard world knew that Draco Malfoy had everything he could ever want and more. He was Voldemort's right hand man, after all. She bit her lip. Cooking. That was going to be rough.

As she lazily tapped the pencil against the table, she looked out the window. They were locked and shut tightly, the dark curtains opened only slightly. Hermione sighed, moving over to them slowly to push the curtains open. The window looked out into what during other times of the year, was probably a garden. Right now, in winter, most things were dead. She could see a bench, and a swing. A swing, hm? Now that peaked her interest. Peering closer, she tried to make out the details on it. She could see some design had been carved into the sides, but from this distance, she couldn't tell what.

Escape. The thought hit her fully right at that moment. She could escape. Draco was gone -- she'd searched the house for him. There was no one outside. She'd been so used to doing exactly what she was told, that she hadn't even considered escape. She bit her bottom lip, pushing her hair behind her ear as she glanced around.

Suddenly, reality hit. Where would she go? There was no one alive who would shelter her -- she was Draco's personal item. She cupped her hand on her neck, staring out the window still, but not really seeing anything. Her eyes glazed over as she thought about her lost friends.

The last battle had been a good one, she told herself. She was trying to convince herself, she knew, but it was something she needed to be reassured of. It'd been fought where they didn't have the advantage, on enemy turf. The numbers had been about even, but that hadn't mattered. Bellatrix and her cohorts had found some sort of old spell that had wiped out many of their best bets. Harry had pushed her out of the way when the fire had sprung up. It was a brutal spell, like all of it's time. She chewed on her lip still, closing her eyes, trying to block out the screams. Harry had screamed. Voldemort had liked that part. Others had been in that circle, Ron, Ginny, so many familiar faces had been burned in that spell. The ones who were left, few as they were, went out with a bang. It was her, Oliver, the Weasley twins, and Neville. They had taken out quite a few.

Hermione still held a grudge against Draco. He'd been the one to disarm her, to force her to stand down or die. She'd opted for death, but he wouldn't grant it. His eyes had been so sad when she'd asked for death, and for the life of her, she couldn't think of why. Maybe he knew what was in store for her.

If she had a chance, she'd kill him. He'd been the one to find the spell, she knew. She'd do it. What did she have to lose?

Her lip stung. She gently brushed her fingertips over the part that hurt, staring with open fascination at the dark blood that smeared them. She heard the door open, heard Draco say her name. "Granger?" She turned, looking at him. He was carrying a large number of boxes and bags, being rather clumsy about it.

He took in the scene, looking at her fingers, the blood dripping down her lip, the pen clutched tightly in her other hand. "Dammit, Granger, I can't leave you alone for even a morning." He dumped his findings onto the table, going to the bathroom closet and getting a washcloth. He ran it under water, coming back to Hermione, who still hadn't moved. He wiped the blood from her fingers, curling her hand around the rag, and moving it to cover the bleeding on her lip.

He looked down at her, at her tear filled brown eyes, the confusion in them. He sighed. "I've got some stuff for you. Come see." Not bothering to see if she took an interest, or if she followed him, Draco moved back to the table to start unpacking boxes. One bag was food. "You like fruit. I got some." He moved the bag to the kitchen counter, stacking the boxes and opening them one at a time. "I got you some clothes. They're your old size, before…" His words trailed off as he looked at her. They both knew what he meant. Neither wanted to mention it.

She didn't question how he knew her old size, or how he'd known that she'd like fruit. She just accepted it. Still holding the rag to her lip, she looked over the clothing that he'd bought. It was nice. Very pretty. It was feminine enough to be stylish, but comfortable enough to be bearable. Two of the boxes were casual outfits, pants, shorts, shirts, and sweaters. The boxes that had been wrapped, now those worried her. Draco took the boxes into the bedroom, talking to her as he opened drawers, putting the clothing in them. She was surprised to see he'd even bought pajamas, and not slinky ones like she would've guessed. "The drawers on your side are for you stuff. Whatever you'd like to keep in them."

She was gently caressing the ribbon on the decorated boxes that remained. Draco stood in the doorway, nodding at her, urging her to open it. He looked like a little kid on Christmas morning that had saved all his pennies and nickels to buy his parents something. She set the rag down, opening the boxes slowly. The first one contained makeup, all sorts. Brushes, shampoos, conditioners, top of the line. Hermione glanced over them all, silent.

The next she opened was the smallest. For a moment, she was confused, eyeing the object it contained. Draco spoke up, explaining. He was getting into a bottle of wine in the kitchen, not meeting her eyes. "Once you're in better health, we'll be required to attend social functions. It's proper for owned persons to wear a collar, and leash, if desired." The collar was dark blood red, almost black, and it was velvety soft. From it hung a small jewel. She fingered it. It was a dark topaz colour, with gold wire wound about it like a cage. She swallowed, pushing it aside quickly and moving to the other boxes. Draco took another drink, watching her.

The leash was a simple silver chain that had small bells near where it attached to the collar. They jingled prettily when moved, but to Hermione, they only made her sick with dread.  
The dresses were beautiful. All dark tones, with silver chains identical to the leash used in them. Some were belts, others were decoration, or the string that laced up the side or back. She looked at them with words stuck in her throat. She wanted to yell at him. She wanted to tell him that she was not his, and he had no right. But she knew it didn't matter. She was his, unless she escaped. And even then, it wouldn't matter. They'd bring her back. They'd do worse things.

She was crying, tears falling without her even noticing until one rolled off her cheek and splattered on her hand. Draco was there then, his hand on her shoulder, feather light and cautious. "I'm sorry, Granger." It wasn't much, he knew, but it was all he could offer.

Hermione pushed his hand away, "Leave me alone, Malfoy. Just because you didn't have the guts to kill me doesn't mean I don't have the guts to survive without you." Her voice was filled with spite and anger, though tears were still falling from her eyes. How she wished she could've died with Harry and the rest. That would've made things so much simpler. But things couldn't be simple, could they? For some reason, she was alive. That's how it was, and she'd best deal with it. Wiping the back of her hand across her eyes, she sniffed, straightening her back and looking Draco in the eyes. "What do you want for dinner tonight"

Draco watched her, admiring her strength. A flower with a stem of steel. He could appreciate that. He knew that's how it had to be, though. If it wasn't for that, she'd be dead, crazy, or so broken she wasn't Granger anymore. "Surprise me." He swept away from her, taking with him his bottle of wine and glass, disappearing into his study, the door closed softly behind him.

Hermione stared at the door for a few minutes, silent. Then the tears came again. She didn't bother trying to stop them. She picked up the clothes off the table, pushing them box and all into the bottom drawer corners. She'd face that when she had to. Right now, she had to find something to cook.

Well. A surprise. In that case, it'd be something she wanted. He could deal. What's the worse he could do? Kill her? The thought made her choke on her tears, issuing a bitter laugh. Right.

**A/N**: So, there's chapter two... Getting eight reviews in such a short span inspired me to post this up. I honestly hope this is okay... The next chapter includes an... interesting social function. I'm kinda stuck at a standstill as far aswhere to go with chapter 5. I have up to four done. Hope you all enjoyed it, and please, review, if you feel so kind. Any suggestions are welcome... but the plots laid out to a certain point already. Thanks for all the great reviews already! **Edit**: I went through and put in some missing breaks / punctuation. My original has the punctuation, but this one takes it out... probably converting the files or something, stupid things. So if random periods go missing, forgive me, and smote microsoft.


	3. A Hotter Touch

Chapter Three -- A Hotter Touch

The following months passed quietly. Winter came to full bloom, and then passed. Draco became more and more reclusive as spring wormed it's way into the garden out back. Draco had permitted her to visit the garden as much as she wanted as soon as she'd started gaining back some of the weight she'd lost over the years. Her cheeks didn't look as hollow, and the bags from under her eyes were mostly gone. The clothes that were her once upon a time size were only slightly baggy now, and she didn't resemble a skeleton when she wrapped towels around her after baths.

She'd been lulled into an almost sense of security by the time spring's debut began to fade. She'd worked in the garden extensively, and all her work began to show. She'd cleaned out the beds and the area, trimming some plants, coaxing others. Draco had silently brought home various vases of different sizes and colours. Soon the house had fresh flowers in most rooms. Her days consisted of playing in the garden and learning, slowly, how to cook. It was amazing how easy it could be to burn water, she'd found in the first few days. By now, she was at least proficient. She didn't burn things hardly ever, and she actually enjoyed cooking. Spices were a source of endless amusement for her. She'd gotten Draco to bring home some herbs for her to plant in a bed that nothing had shown up in. Soon, many things on the dinner table were from her garden.

Then there was the swing. She'd sit on it for hours, playing with a bracelet that Draco had brought home for her. She personally didn't value it because it was from him, but something about it charmed her. The way the light reflected off the intricate vines of silver and the small stones embedded in it at seemingly random distances. The designs on the swing told her very little of it's history. When she asked Draco about it, he'd swallowed some wine, and tell her it was here before he'd gained possession of the house. She didn't ask about it anymore.

Her and Draco still had their quarrels. There were many nights when he wouldn't get home until late, and he wouldn't bother to bathe. At four AM, someone dropping into bed next to you who smells like blood and sweat isn't really all that welcomed.

She never asked him what he did when Voldemort summoned him at all hours of the day and night. He never told her.

About the middle of summer, Draco came home surprisingly early, getting comfortable, bathing, and grooming. After a silent lunch, he cleared his throat, announcing: "Granger, there's a ball tonight. We're required to attend." He didn't sound happy about it, but in some way he seemed satisfied. Though Hermione had never been a stunning beauty, he knew she had some potential at least. She looked more like a human now, and hey, it's not the girl who makes the clothes, it's the clothes who make the girl. If that was so, Hermione would be dressed to kill tonight. Her hair was long enough now to put up, which she often did. He decided then that he wanted it down for tonight's occasion. "I don't care what you wear, just pick something nice. I'll be wearing black and navy. I expect you to match"

Hermione stared at her plate, pushing the fruit pieces around with her fork. She didn't answer, though she had heard. So now it was time. Her stomach turning, she started cleaning up. Draco moved between her and the dinner mess though, taking her plate from her gently. "I'll take care of this tonight, Granger"

Hermione blushed, not even sure why, and turned from him, fleeing to the safety of the bedroom. She began laying out her outfit. The collar, she was sure, would be included. As well as the leash. This was her premier, and Draco always was one for dramatic entrances. She finally decided on a long black dress that came down to mid-calf. The back was a criss-cross design made with the small, delicate chain, that ran up her shoulder to connect to the front and form something to hold the dress onto her. She was never busty enough to get away with strapless dresses. She paced around all night, playing with her make-up. Simple, simple, simple. That was her motto for the night. She hadn't played with make-up since she was a girl, and that was just playing. She wasn't even sure what half of the things were for.

Her final make-up scheme ended up along the lines of simple bell earrings, mascara, and black eyeliner. She applied lipstick, pouting in the mirror. How silly could she make herself feel, she wondered? Her friends were dead, and they'd died saving her, fighting for what was right. And what was she doing? Primping for Malfoy and his friends so she could be lead around on a leash all night. She bit her lip, smearing the lipstick. Carefully, she reapplied it, brushing one side of her bangs up with a small clip. When in the outfit, complete, as she listened to Draco pace outside, she couldn't help but stare. She was pretty. She couldn't remember a time when she felt so proud of her pale, freckled skin, or her tawny brown eyes. She ran a hand through her hair. The leash hung loosely from one hand, clipped to the side of the collar.

Into the lion's den, she thought silently, straightening her posture and opening the door.

For the look that appeared on Malfoy's face, it was worth it. All that time and guilt. Just to see the wonder on his face. It was a smug wonder, as though he knew what was lurking under the surface all that time, but wonder none-the-less. The leash tinkled softly, her earrings mimicking the sound when she turned her head as she held the leash out. "Are we done yet?" She had to find some way to spite him, after all.

"Not quite, Granger. C'mon, let's go knock 'em flat." He smiled, a proud flashy, reckless smile. Taking the chain, he bowed at the waist, opening the door.

The ball was extravagant in every meaning of the word. The halls and main room were decked with all sorts of shiny trinkets, the night sky crowding into the ceiling. Hermione felt a sudden homesickness at seeing a place that so reminded her of Hogwarts. How lucky they'd been in those days. Draco had clipped the end of her leash to the waist of his pants, going around and greeting those who approached him. Hermione politely kept her tongue as she watched Draco smother people in subtle insults. Few, if any, caught them.

Finally, as she knew he would, Draco drifted to the drinks table, grabbing a red wine for himself, and passing a white to Hermione. "Be nice, Malfoy. I wouldn't want them to kill you or anything." She spoke in low tones, half over her wine glass as she sipped at the liquid. It burned as it traveled down her throat. After a few sips, she felt better. The thought that she was in public, on a chain, in this outfit… well, it would've struck her dead a few years ago. Just the shock of it.

"I love you, too, Granger." Draco replied, smiling through his teeth and nodding at a gentleman who approached them.

"So, this is who you've been hiding with all this time, Draco. You never told us she was so pretty." The gentleman didn't look familiar. He was dressed almost the same as Draco, his suit dark, with blood red accents. His dark hair fell over his olive skin like ferns around a pond. Hermione was struck by his beauty. His face was pristine, looking roman in some ways, as though he should be made of marble. His dark brown eyes studied her as Draco laughed carelessly, swirling his wine in his glass casually. He was trying his hardest to appear calm, she noticed. But the hand by his side was clenched tight.

"Pretty, but she's got some thorns under that beauty. I don't know about you, but it's safer not to test the poison without the cure nearby." Draco eyed Hermione, scowling slightly at her obvious look of appreciation at his friend.

"Mmm, well, if you won't, I will." With practiced skill, he reached out, unhooking Hermione's leash from Draco's waist. "If you don't mind..?" His eyebrows perked slightly, his eyes flashing with merriment. He could tell Draco was frustrated.

"Of course, Blaise. Just don't get too cozy, please." Draco was obviously fuming. As they walked off, he downed the rest of his wine and grabbed another; he moved with them as they moved, almost stalking them, watching with intense speculation.

Blaise swept Hermione off to the dance floor, his hand on her waist, holding her other hand up in the classic ballroom dance. Hermione could hardly breathe. Blaise, how could this be Blaise? He'd always been so quiet in school, overshadowed by Draco and other Slytherins. Now, his dark eyes danced with danger as he leaned down and nipped at her ear. "He watches you like a hawk." His voice made Hermione feel woozy. It happened so fast, Blaise holding her close, biting at her neck, shivers running down her back. She didn't know what to make of it all. She could feel Draco's eyes boring into her back, watching them like prey. Blaise had been right. His hips moved against her lower stomach lightly, subtly. "He doesn't make you sleep with him, does he?" Blaise's voice seemed amused as he looked down at her, his eyes staring into hers.

"No." She could hardly whisper. His eyes were so intent, so dark, seemingly swallowing her. She could feel his warmth pressed up against her, feeling heady. Was this how it was like in the movies? The heroine falls in love with the bad boy? Not love, no, just a night of passionate sex and he walks off into the sunset with his cowboy hat and gun.

"Silly girl. You want him to. He wants to." He dug his nails into her sides, causing her to gasp sharply. "We have a word for those like you, Hermione. You are of Michez's line. She was the first, did you know? She made lots of money in the wizarding world. I bet you never learned that in history class." His nails inched up her sides, causing her to shiver, her mouth still agape as he whispered into her ear. "He won't hurt you. Not like I could. Like you want to be… he'll never own you. Not like I could, Hermione. Not like I could." He was looking at her again, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted slightly. Blaise kissed her, seemingly an innocent swipe of the lips, but in reality he bit the inside of her lip, causing it to bleed. He licked the lip, sucking the blood as he stared at her. "Someday, Hermione. Someday." It was a promise, and honestly, Hermione couldn't wait. She licked the last bit of the blood from the inside of her lip. It had been a shallow cut; that fact almost made her sad.

The song had ended, and she could see Draco storming towards them, his face flushed and his hand clenched by his side, the other squeezing a brand new glass of wine. "Granger, we're going." He pulled her over roughly by the chain, the collar giving only slightly and yanking her off balance. She looked at him, bewildered, her eyes swimming in something Draco didn't want to admit. "Blaise." His voice was stiff, a perfect example of barely concealed anger.

"Draco. Always a pleasure." He was so calm and cool, his voice pleasant. The sweeping bow he made was elegant. As he rose from it, oh so slowly, he gazed up at Hermione. "Hermione." She shivered to hear him say her name like that. Like he wanted her. It'd been so long since she'd felt that way. Wanted. For something other than information, for something she had no control over. No. She wanted Blaise, Merlin how she wanted him! She stumbled after Draco who was pulling her along. She'd been too choked up to return Blaise's goodbye, but she'd managed a blushing smile, enough to make him smirk at her.

People tried to stop Draco to talk to him, people tried to stop him to eye at her. But she was oblivious. All she could think of was deep, dark eyes that made her yearn to strip naked and beg for any attention she could get. The metallic taste of blood lingered in her mouth still, and she savored it.

He was silent the whole way home. Hermione wasn't disappointed. She knew he'd save his anger for something else. He never took it out on her, and if he did, it was all very civil. Maybe this would push him over the line of civility? She could only hope. He really was stressed enough, already. He didn't need something like this on his plate right now.

**A/N**: So there's chapter three. Hope you all enjoy. My friend Becka is now beta-ing for me, so that may help a bit. She caught a few typos of mine. Hope you all enjoy. The next chapter is interesting... Chapters four and five are written, btw. But you'll have to review to get them! Kidding, kidding. They'll be up there soon. ;o Thanks for all the support!


	4. A Better Fuck

Chapter Four -- A Better Fuck

When they arrived home, Draco stormed into the house, locking himself promptly into his study. She could hear him uncorking more wine. He hadn't bothered with a glass this time. She smiled faintly. How'd it come to be that she'd know Malfoy so well, of all people? He'd treated her well, she knew that. She wasn't denying it. There were many other men who could've had her who wouldn't have been so kind.

She took her time undressing and changing. For some reason, tonight, she felt like she owed Malfoy something. Blaise had told her exactly what it was he wanted. He had confirmed it. She slipped into one of the slinkier gowns, one that she couldn't imagine wearing out of the house. She left the collar on. It contrasted well with the deep red of the dress. She let her hair down. She knew he liked it better down. He always frowned oh so slightly when he saw her putting it up in the morning after a shower. Hermione traced the bracelet that lay on the dresser. Quietly, she put it on, looking in the mirror once more. "Harry, forgive me."

After all the months she was stuck with him, she couldn't help it. The feelings of subtle want and need had grown beneath hatred, where she hadn't been aware of them. She was going to do something she wanted, had wanted, but hadn't cared to acknowledge it. Blaise had tore down that wall and now she was facing it head on. So be it.

Silent and regal, she went to the study. She cleared her throat. "Malfoy?" She couldn't help the name thing. He was Malfoy to her. It barely registered to her that he even had a different name, one which most other people addressed him by.

"Go away, Granger." She could hear him pacing. He was always pacing.

"Malfoy, let me in there this instant!" Hermione hadn't raised her voice to anyone recently, unless she was screaming. It felt strange and foreign to her. When he opened the door, it surprised her. He looked haggard. His tuxedo had been taken off in haste, his pale hair splayed loosely around his face, instead of being so artfully kept back. His stormy eyes looked like a real storm -- the wine increasing the emotions that swelled around in them.

"What do you want?" Draco had noticed the clothing change the minute he'd opened the door -- who couldn't? The red colour just screamed 'notice me!'

Slowly, Hermione laid her palm flat against his chest, looking up at him. "You… Malfoy."

He squinted at her for a moment, laying his hand over hers, staring at her with some untold emotion. "I told you sex wasn't required."

Hermione laughed at that, pulling his head down and kissing him, feeling a shiver course up her spine as he wrapped his free arm around her waist. "Malfoy, playing hard to get isn't required."

At that, Draco took a moment to pull his hand free, twining it in her hair. "What did Blaise say." It wasn't a question. It was a command.

Hermione swallowed, staring up at him, feeling his hand trailing down her back, over her butt, out to her hip, gripping her tightly. "He said that I was Michez's line, Malfoy." She still had little to no idea of what Michez was. She'd heard the name briefly in history. She was the daughter of someone important, but beyond that, she wasn't sure what that had to do with her.

"Michez…" He said the name slowly, looking at her. "Do you know? What Michez stands for? What she was?" He knew she didn't, but he asked anyhow. Just to have her admit she didn't know. He leaned down, nibbling at her neck and ear lobe softly.

"No." She felt almost as bad as she had when Blaise had been attacking her. But she expected this, she craved it. Blaise had surprised her.

"She was the first woman to make money off being hurt, way back when. To her, bleeding was the sweetest pleasure in the world. Men would pay, to have a night with her, to have their way with her. Michez's line is used in reference to people who like pain just as much as pleasure." He paused, squeezing her side and moving his hand up, biting at her neck harder. "Do you like to hurt?"

Hermione moaned. She'd wrapped her arms around him, pulling herself against him. "Yes," it was such a pathetic whisper. But she didn't care. Draco's hands were searing across her, heat following where ever they traced. She whimpered a bit, pulling herself against him tighter. "Please." She wasn't sure what she was asking for, but Draco seemed to know as he pried her arms from him, pulling her towards the bedroom.

He didn't know what to think of this. When he'd seen Blaise doing what he was… an anger had boiled up in him, a protectiveness for Granger that he'd never felt. It had been like a blade, twisting in his stomach until he couldn't take it any longer. And now here she was, offering herself up. He should've known she was of Michez's line. It would make sense. She'd always been fascinated by blood. The thing was, that in this day and age, Michez's line wasn't really all that big of a deal. Before the war, there'd been a group of men and women who followed Michez's path, but they'd long ago disappeared into hiding. Blaise had always mingled with them, which would explain his knowledge in spotting Granger as one. Still, he didn't like it. Draco didn't like things working into his plans that he didn't expect. This was one of those things.

Draco stopped thinking that night. He was tired of thinking. Instead, he enjoyed what he'd been longing for, what he'd wanted for a while now. What he'd been too pompous to admit he wanted.

It was two am when he noticed the clock, laying half on Granger, who was dozing lightly. Gently he traced a fingernail down one of the scars. It was the deep one on her side, the one that had been so fresh when he'd first gotten her. She stirred, squirming away from his nail, muttering something in her sleep. He'd never been with a woman like her, who wanted so desperately to hurt. He wondered idly if that was the only thing she could enjoy. He hoped not. Causing pain was only occasionally something that he was interested in. Maybe after all the pain she'd suffered from Voldemort… maybe that's the only thing she could feel? Now that was a scary thought. Draco pushed it aside. He absently cleaned from under his nails with his teeth, tasting the faint trace of her blood that remained under them. He hadn't honestly meant to hurt her. He knew she'd liked it, but he felt slightly bad. He'd hurt enough people in his life. He didn't want to hurt someone he didn't have to hurt.

Still, the way she'd moaned had made him shiver. Goosebumps chased up his legs as the sweat dried on him in the cold room. He hadn't built a fire, or turned on the furnace. Deciding against getting up, Draco rolled over, cuddling into Hermione.

Hermione was happier than she'd been in a long time. She felt safe. She knew she'd seen something in those cool eyes when they'd been having sex. There was something about moving with someone so intimately that brought those feelings up into the light for all to see. She'd seen something, and she was happy with that. She knew well enough that there was something in her that felt similar. Though she'd never admit it to the bastard.

"Granger?" Draco's voice was so quiet and gentle.

"Mm?" Her reply was muttered into the pillow slightly. Slowly, languid and relaxed, she rearranged the pillows, adjusting them to prop herself up on her elbow.

"Do you love me?" His eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes blank, the corners of his lips turned down slightly.

Hermione laughed, a quiet, tired laugh. Her hand moved out to trace his jaw line faintly, as she shook her head, still smiling a small smile. "No, Malfoy. But you'll do." Love, no. She cared about him, but love was something she didn't even know if she was capable of. She hadn't thought care was even possible after all the betrayals and hurt he caused. But she knew he regretted it. She was convinced of his humanity.

Draco's hand moved up to catch hers as he stared so intently into her lazy, half-asleep face. He kissed her palm gently, nodding. He hadn't expected it, but a fellow can hope. He didn't know where he stood with Granger. She was so… complex. First, she was an unwilling captive. Then a semi-willing cook and housekeeper. Next, the household whore? No. He didn't know. She was everything, she was nothing.

Everything in him said that he was stupid. Plans he made when drinking wine, locked in his study… those type of plans got people killed. He could get her killed, and then where would he be? He brushed back hair from her face, cuddling into her, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close, feeling her warmth.

The blankets were pulled up, the dim lamps turned off, bodies snuggled together. It wasn't perfect.

But it was damn good.

**A/N**: So here's chapter four. Chapters five, six, and seven are written and ready. I wrote about 3,000 words last night, you should all be proud. Five will be loaded tomorrow afternoon if I find the time, which I hopefully should. Sorry for being so shy about my writing, and the reviews are really lovely all. 3


	5. Than Any Boy You'll Ever Meet

Chapter Five -- Than Any Boy You'll Ever Meet 

Draco was once again pouring himself into his studies. After Hermione's debut at the ball, there'd been so many inquiring questions about her, that he'd been afraid to go outside. And his plans… his plans were the most important part. He needed to work on those, he did, really, but somehow they just kept… slipping away. Draco beat his head on his desk, spreading parchment and empty ink bottles flying about. "What am I missing?" He asked himself, repeatedly. There was something, something that would win this for him… and he just couldn't reach it.

Hermione watched from the windowsill. He never let her see what he was working on, but she'd taken to sitting in the comfortable bench that'd been built into the window when the weather was acting up. Her and Draco had been on better terms since the night of the ball, but neither of them had made a move for more of what had happened. He'd seemed overly reserved and gentlemen like after that, turning away when she dressed, not insisting on needing the bathroom when she was showering. Hermione didn't know what to take it as. Was he mad? If so, at himself, or her? She didn't know, and she didn't ask. That was how it'd been lately. "What're you whining about now, Malfoy?" He'd been stressed, and she knew that.

But she also knew he was a lot like a blister. He would just continue to hurt and puss and hurt more until he was finally drained. The easiest way to do that was with a needle. The best needle was a blow up. So, she'd provoke him.

"I'm not whining, Granger." There was a snarl in his voice as he stood up, his chair flying back from him as he moved to pace in front of the desk. He looked like a caged animal. Hermione's eyes softened a bit at that thought.

"Yes you are, Malfoy." She looked back down to the book she was reading, seemingly indifferent to the items he'd begun throwing around.

"Whining! This isn't whining, Granger." A book flew across the room, hitting the cabinet with a dull thud. "I need help, I need help, damn it all to hell, I need HELP!" A half empty well of ink hit the wall, ink sliding down in a pattern resembling blood spatter. Hermione watched it blankly as he raged around the room. "But who could I trust? Killing the bastard isn't the hard part, it's establishing the power afterwards. If it was just me, the rest of them will eat me alive. I need more wizards! I need more power behind it all!" He slammed his palms down onto the desk, causing Hermione to jump. He was staring up at her, the bangs of his platinum hair falling over his eyes delicately. He needed it trimmed, she noted. Grey-blue eyes watched her intently, savagely.

"Blaise. Use Blaise."

Draco gaped at her, colour rising to his cheeks. He hadn't thought of Blaise. And even if he had, would he be willing to let Blaise be around Hermione so often? He didn't know enough of what she thought of him. Their one time encounter had given him what he wanted in some ways, but now he wanted more. He wouldn't take it, of course. He didn't want anything that had to be forced. What he wanted had to be willingly given, and Draco wouldn't dream of entertaining those kind of thoughts right now. Not when it was likely that he'd come home to find her dead. He was careful with his plans, oh so careful. But if something slipped… He dreaded coming home each day, dreaded searching the house for her. Dreaded checking to see if she was breathing when she was in bed and he came home late.

He bit his lip. Blaise was a strong wizard. He'd be a good ally, not to mention that he had some good influences. "He wouldn't do it. Blaise lives for the game. I'm not playing games." Not anymore, at least, he added to himself silently.

"Play a game, then. Make him want to play your game." She smiled at him faintly, an unsure smile, so cautious. "Everything is a game, Malfoy. Just give him a playing piece and some rules. He'll play."

She had a point. Blaise was notorious for his love of 'the game.' Any game. He liked chances, he liked betting. He liked risking everything. And he did, often. Draco smoothed his hair gently, pushing the loose strands behind his ears. "Let the game begin," he whispered, his eyes staring blankly at his desk.

Blaise had arranged a night of betting, just for Draco. It was to be a luxurious evening, so Hermione attended. The 'men' of the evening played at a central table in Blaise's home, a lovely home, one so lush and exotic, Hermione spent the greater part of the evening wandering through the hallways, looking at the beautifully decorated rooms. Rooms that reminded her of sunny beaches, faraway places. She breathed deeply, taking it all in. There was more sense of freedom in these rooms than she'd had in ages.

Freedom, she thought to herself sadly as she fingered a gauze curtain that hung from a four poster bed. The room she'd paused in was one that reminded her of what she thought Africa must be like. The room was composed of warm tones, plush furniture, and sensual statues.

"This is one of my favorites, as well." Blaise's voice startled her as she turned to face him, her stuttering voice caught in her throat. "You've good taste, Hermione." She hated how his voice sounded, how he said her name, made it feel so… perfect. It was like a caress in a single word. It made her heart race. He made her heart race.

"Done playing cards?" She had to think of something to talk about, before she did something completely silly.

"Oh, no. We're just taking a break." He leaned against the doorway, preening his nails, then glancing up at her, dark chocolate eyes stripping her, twinkling at her. She could feel herself blushing. He looked so at home in this room. His olive skin, his dangerous eyes, his… intentions. He felt so beast-like to her in some ways. While her thoughts spun in her head, he commented quietly. "The last round is on us, and Draco's the only other in. You may want to watch. It'll be… interesting." There was a quiet smile in his words. She knew that without even looking up. Why did she feel like a cornered animal around him?

She nodded, accepting his offer. As they walked down to the main area, silent, she wondered. Had Draco caught his interest? What would catch his interest? He had to play the game, if Draco wanted to win. Blaise was Draco's boardwalk.

Blaise sat down at the table, nodding a slight acknowledgement to Draco, who swirled the wine in his cup around.

The game begun.

Hermione didn't know how it worked, only that it was somewhat similar to muggle poker, which Harry had tried to teach her, once upon a time. She'd gotten mad at the cards that hadn't moved or tried to help her at all. She liked wizard card games much more. This game had a point system though, and was played with many people through the rounds. Eliminations came and went, until only one was left.

The score was 17 to 18. Blaise was winning. Hermione watched with interest as they drew cards, discarded them, and placed there bets. Draco seemed confident. The last hand came around, final bets were placed. The mediator, who lead the game, looked to Draco. "Your winnings?"

Draco took a drink of his wine, before looking at Blaise with the smallest of smiles. "A boon."

"Agreed?" The monotone voice of the elder man asked.

Blaise nodded. His smile became sly, as he glanced to Hermione quickly. "Hermione. Mine, for a night."

Draco's face paled slightly. He was confident, but… give her up? To him? He knew what he did to some of his women, he'd heard the stories. He looked to Hermione, who was completely red. Was it worth it? To either of them? Hermione gave the slowest nod, her eyes never leaving his. She trusted him, by Merlin, she did. He wouldn't place her on the line like that unless it was worth it. He knew how much it pained him to choke out the "agreed" that the man sought.

And the cards were laid down.

A draw at 20 each. The mediator checked the hands again, and called it formally. "In case of a tie, both players get the agreed bets."

Blaise nonchalantly raised his glass up to Draco, downing the rest of his wine as he looked to Hermione, that smile making her shiver. Draco looked distraught as he stood, pulling Hermione out of that house with him. Blaise was shouting behind him. "Friday, Draco. Bring her, and we'll discuss the boon… and if she'd wear red, that'd be appreciated… then the blood won't show!" The laughter that surrounded their leaving left Hermione dazed.

Blaise wouldn't… kill her, would he? Did she care?

No, she decided. Dying to get Draco the help he needed was worth it. And to die by Blaise's hands… yes, she thought. That would be worth it. She licked her lips, the taste of blood almost there. Yes.

Wednesday came and went, Thursday as well. Draco paced the house incessantly, muttering to himself. She knew what he was debating about. The boon: to help him and his purpose… or to spare her? She didn't know why he was so afraid. Blaise had stated he'd have her, one day. And he would. She knew that. Why not now, when it would be so beneficial? Worried or not, he couldn't refuse the help.

When Friday rolled around, she was nervous. She felt much like she had when she'd gone on her first date with Ron. Her stomach did flip-flops, and she couldn't quite meet Draco's prying gaze. She dressed as he asked, in a dark red, a blood red, to match the collar. The leash was on, too, but she didn't mind.

In the carriage, as they made their way to Blaise's manor, Hermione stared out the window. When she could see it out the window in the distance, she finally decided to make a stand to Draco.

"You're not giving up this chance for me, Malfoy."

He snapped his attention back to her, scowling. "What do you mean?"

"If you make him give up his claim on me tonight, you're doing it for you. Don't lie and say it's for my sake. It's for your sake. And if you're that selfish, then so be it. But don't once try to play hero for me, Malfoy. I don't need you to." She felt so cold, saying that to him, but it was the truth. She would do this. She wanted to do this. The wizard world needed help, and if she was the bargaining chip, then so be it. She would play her part, and play it well.

She stepped out of the carriage with grace and dignity, her chin held high. She had her own leash, attached to the collar and her belt. Draco followed her, sulking, a storm brewing in his eyes. When she glanced at him as they were led into the sitting area, she thought she saw a flash of pain. Pain of his dignity being lost? Or pain of hers? Because it surely wasn't the pain of giving her up to another man for a night. She was sure he didn't feel that sort of claim on her; just a simple male single-mindedness that kept him from wanting to let her go.

Blaise entered quietly, taking the seat opposite the couch that Draco and Hermione had sat on. He poured some rum for them each into small glasses, passing them to each. Draco gratefully drank his quickly, getting another refill. His hands were shaking. Hermione sipped hers, the burning sensation making her feel warm and happy. Seeing Draco such a mess almost made her pity him. Almost. But they needed this so badly. She needed this so badly.

"What do you want from me so badly, Draco? You don't want to give her up, even I can see that." Blaise took a sip, watching Draco gather himself.

"Help me overthrow Voldemort." He'd laid all his cards on the table. If Blaise really wanted to play a game, he could turn him in, blackmail him. He knew that, and yet he'd laid it all out. It had to be out. Blaise wanted a game, so here was the game. And the stakes were lives; their own and others.

Blaise sat for a moment, nails delicately tapping against the arm of the chair before he burst out laughing. "Is that all? And here I was, thinking you'd ask me for my right ball or something." Daringly, he downed the rest of his rum, putting his arm out, hand held for a shake "My skills as a wizard for Hermione's skills as a whore." His eyes were dancing, so black in the fire-lit room. He worded it that way on purpose, Hermione knew. To goad him.

Draco swallowed hard, before downing the rest of his rum and whispering so lowly Hermione barely heard him. "Dear Merlin, forgive me." His arm went out, meeting Blaise's as they grasped each other's wrists. "Your skills for Hermione's."

Hermione sat as Draco was escorted from the room. "Tomorrow morning, I'll come and get you. First thing." His eyes were so lost, almost wild. He looked broken as he walked from the room. Hermione bit her bottom lip as she watched. What was that feeling so deep in her gut that made her want to stop him? Made her want to do anything to make him be like he was before Blaise had even been brought into this? She didn't know… and she was afraid of the day she would learn.

Blaise stood, bowing deeply to her. "M'Lady, if I may?"

She stood, shaking as she took his hand, letting him lead her away. She was in the real lion's den now. There was no escaping it now. There was no escaping him, now.

A/N: Review if you'd like. ;o I'm not trying to force people into reviews, it'll just make me post up chapters faster / write faster. You will get your chapters eventually without the reviews, it just might take me a little longer. Hope you all enjoy. The next chapter is... fun. This is a large chapter to make up for the small ones that come next.


	6. Sweetie, You Had Me

Chapter Six -- Sweetie, You Had Me 

Hermione didn't know what she expected of the evening. She'd heard promises of blood, promises of pain. And it made her tremble.

Fear? Of course. That was half of the exhilaration. Worry? No, not really. She knew Blaise wouldn't dare harm his family's reputation by doing something stupid -- like killing DracoMalfoy's personal toy. That's what they whispered about, she knew. That's what the women asked about.

She stood, awkward and out of place in the room that he'd taken her to. She knew she should do something, anything. "I like your house." Wow, that sounded much more pathetic when out in the open than it had in her head. She cringed, watching him turn back to her, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Thank you. When I moved out of my parents home, well, I got involved." That smile again, the brown tousled hair falling over his eyes. "Sit, Hermione. We must drink, and talk first."

She obeyed with no resistance, taking the seat closest to her at the small squat table that was in the room. It was just as plush as the other rooms had been. This one was on the other wing of the house though, the one she hadn't explored. When he served her steaming tea, she smiled lightly in an ironic fashion. Who would've thought this is what she'd be doing? She hadn't even expected to survive the war, and here she was… drinking tea… as though the sun would rise tomorrow and Harry and Ron would ask her where she'd been for so many years. Sipping at it, she stared off. No. The sun would rise, but Harry and Ron were dead. And she knew that, she did. "What's in this?" Her voice seemed almost unattached to her body, as though she was standing by the wall, hearing herself speak.

"Some things for calming, some things to help the body control it's blood flow. It should make you feel more awake, as well. Nothing like a stimulant in the bad sense. Just a refresher." He smirked at her, pushing his hair back. "Don't look so shocked. I wouldn't want you bleeding out on my carpets, now would I? Blood is terribly hard to remove. And in such quantities…" He shook his head, clicking his tongue.

Part of Hermione was disgusted. The other though… merlin how she wanted him. She drank the tea quietly. It was a pleasant tasting drink, one that made her think of open fields and salty breezes. She closed her eyes for a moment before looking up to Blaise from under her eyelashes.

She wanted to ask him about what he was planning. But the other part of her wanted that adrenaline rush of surprise.

Blaise talked idly of things that didn't really matter, nor pertain to her, as she finished the second cup of tea. She knew he was acting. He was watching her very closely, even if his gaze drifted around the room lazily now and then. She knew better. He was like Draco -- like all Slytherins. Natural hunters, watching their prey carefully.

Finally, Blaise rose, holding his hand out to her. His eyes had that gleam in them. As he led her out her out the door and down the hallway, he talked about things that were more interesting, in Hermione's view. "I stayed with Michez's Temple for a summer… you pick up some interesting habits around them." He laughed lowly. "I used to be so afraid of blood, isn't that crazy? Then a woman, a beautiful woman, she showed me a cut once, cut her arm right then and there. The blood… it was grotesquely exquisite. Does that make sense?" He laughed again, in a more self-demeaning way.

Hermione knew exactly what he meant. How blood signified so much, and most of it wasn't good things. But no, when she saw blood… she stared. She took it in. She stored it away. Everything about it intrigued her. The thickness, the taste, the smell… the feel. It was simply fascinating for her, she wouldn't deny that.

He pulled her into a dark room. When he started lighting candles about the area, she let out a small, sharp breath of air. The light swept over the red room, the blood red room. The carpet was so soft, she could feel her feet sinking at least an inch into it. There was a large canopy bed on one wall, the rest of the areas covered by amusements. She touched fingertips gently to her lips, her eyes wide as she observed. The things in this room… she could only imagine what some of them were for. A shudder passed through her as she watched him turn to her. He'd been setting things out on the dresser close to the door. She hadn't seen what. Now though, now he was stalking her. His eyes glinted in the candle light, his body lithe and tense. The carpet softened any noise he might've made, but somehow, Hermione knew he wouldn't make any no matter what.

When he came up from behind her, she gasped openly. His arms were around her before she could even register what was happening. Strong, gentle arms. Arms that claimed and yearned for all at once. She was his, he knew it, but he still showed all that desire. Hermione started to grasp what it was like to be an owner of Michez's path. She was a part of Michez's path… but Blaise stalked beside it. He watched those on it, attacked, teased and taunted and pushed them over the edge.

Her clothes were coming off, Blaise nimble and beautiful in his grace. His teeth on her neck, teasing, toying. She closed her eyes, leaning into it, pliable as he took clothing off piece by piece… so slowly. She wanted to yell at him, tell him to hurry up and take her before she exploded. Instead, she stood, fists clenching into Blaise's pant legs as he pulled back away from her.

She turned from him, her eyes wide, begging. He knew what she wanted, and he wasn't about to give it to her. Clothing tossed aside, she felt vulnerable. But she knew that was the point. "Undress me, Hermione." His words were quiet, but that didn't matter. Whatever made men think they had to be loud to be in control was just plain stupid.

She did it slowly, just as slowly as he had to her. Why should she give any when he wouldn't? No, he could wait. But how she wanted him! She worshipped his body as she took off the clothing, gentle and precise. When she was done, she was on her knees before him, staring up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

She was his.

He didn't sleep with her that night. If only he'd been so nice. Instead, the teasing had gone on and on. She'd begged, she knew that. He'd used small, barely noticeable blades on her, tracing the nails they were attached to around and around, the skin peeling back to let the blood flow gently from the wounds.

She was his, all his.

She remembered the bed, being so close, so close to her own release. And then he'd stopped. Pain, pleasure, there was no difference for her that night. Blindfolds, she couldn't see half the time. But that was of no concern. All that mattered was him.

All his, only his.

Blood, so much blood. Her vision was painted red, and she knew it was all hers. What would've happened if he hadn't had her drink that tea? She didn't want to know.

Only his, all his.

Her throat was raw the next morning, she was raw. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Draco came to pick her up as he'd promised, the anger boiling in his eyes at the sight of her.

Only his…

And those eyes, Merlin, those eyes! How he'd looked at her, with a smug smile, and lust in those eyes. More, more. She licked her lips, trying to go back to him, but how Draco fought her! Blaise, Blaise, Blaise… yes… Blaise… Merlin, release me…

* * *

Draco was pacing again. He was only pacing. Blaise had stopped by to plan with him, to talk with him… and to check up on Hermione, of course. It'd been a day since her night with him, and Draco was still furious. "She can't talk, did you know? She can't hardly move without hitting something that hurts. She's always talking of burning, something's burning." Draco paused, looking at Blaise. Blaise was intently cleaning a fingernail. Draco slammed his hands onto the desk, raising his voice. "You insensitive prick, you almost killed her!" His face was flushed, his blood pumping fast. Oh, Granger…

Blaise looked up, all his joking gone for the moment. This was a serious moment, one that Draco was in need of badly. "She didn't do much talking, that night. Maybe it's become a habit." She had been begging most of the night, or answering politely. And screaming. None of those counted. He gave a slightly cruel smile as he watched Draco's anger rise. He knew what the burning was. The blades that he'd used, they were infamous for that. The felt like ice and flame, all at once. The sensation faded as the wounds healed, but she'd had them all over. Blaise had been thorough. He'd enjoyed it… he'd do it again, if given the chance. "She'll be fine, Draco. Don't worry."

Draco looked at him, completely exasperated as he started pacing again. "Go, Blaise. Go. Now."

Blaise raised from the chair coolly, looking over Draco with distaste. "I'll be back next Thursday." He left, not even slamming the door on his way out.

For some reason, that irritated Draco all the more. Couldn't he at least pretend to be angry? No. Always so cool, so calm. That bastard. Draco ground his teeth together. He knew the cost for his help was high, but this was just getting to be insane. He hated how he felt when he looked at her. Her eyes were so blank, staring back like a broken doll. Why? Why her? Why now? He was crying, again.

He didn't hear the door open, he didn't know she was even there until she was holding him, holding him around the shoulders as his sobs wracked his body. "I'm so sorry, Granger. I'm so sorry."

Hermione pulled the hair from his eyes, pushing it behind his ears. "It was worth it, it was. I wanted it, really, I did. And we need him. I'd do it ten times over, for freedom… for freedom for every other person. It was worth it, Draco. It needed to be done." She had never imagined herself as a bartering tool -- not pretty enough. But she had been, and she meant it when she'd said she'd do it over.

When he was finally done crying, he felt better. But he wasn't going to tell her that. Instead, he left abruptly to find some food, leaving her in the study, staring at him, her eyes showing the beginnings of the hurt from being blown off.

"Oh Malfoy, you're such a twit."

* * *

"Blaise, we can't do that. We'll get caught." Draco looked up from the layout of the castle, the bags under his eyes clashing horribly with his pale skin. "I don't look forward to being killed, honestly.'

Blaise threw up his hands, storming out of the room. "Fine! You think of something better, then. I'm getting a drink."

And who was in the kitchen other than our lovely Hermione? "Malfoy, stay out of that batter," she warned absently, her nose in a cookbook.

Coming up from behind her, Blaise slipped his arms around her, twisting her to face him before leaning up against her, staring at her. "I'm not Malfoy." His smile was enticing, and he knew it, of course.

Hermione struggled only briefly before he kissed her. Then she stopped, whimpering instead. She may've tried to block it from her mind's eye, but her body remembered, and craved it. His hips moved against her provocatively, his hand playing at her side.

"Your cake batter is getting my floor dirty." Draco's cold voice cut through the moment. Blaise pulled away from Hermione slowly, looking at Draco. He smiled, a cool, guilty-but-so-what smile.

Hermione looked flustered as she moved to clean up the mess on the floor. She'd been holding the whisk, and hadn't realized that it'd been dripping. She bit her lip. She also hadn't realized what exactly she'd been doing until Draco had brought it into light again.

It'd been a while since her encounter with Blaise, but she still woke in a sweat from it some nights. With him and Draco often plotting late into the night, Blaise was around. A lot. Too much. Enough to make her want to beg. Beg and beg and plead. But she didn't. She knew what Draco's feelings were on it all, and honestly, she didn't want Blaise for anything other than that deep physical craving.

"Dinner will be done soon." She turned back to her cutting board, cutting the vegetables with more force than needed. At least it made her feel better. A little bit, anyhow.

* * *

Draco stared at the ceiling, listening to Hermione getting into bed. The lights were off, but he knew her routine by heart now. She was so methodical. He loved to tease her about that. She was on her side, facing away from him. Her back, that's all he got. "Are you in love with Blaise?" Draco had been doing a lot of thinking lately. If this plan worked, where would that leave him and her? He would not let this kind of thing continue once Voldemort was out of the way. But that was the only thing that kept Hermione with him now. Because she had no place to go.

"No." Hermione was sure of that. She may lust after him, but that was simply it, in the end. Lust. She heard Draco sigh, heard him roll over towards him. Felt him move closer to him.

"Granger… would you… would you cuddle with me, tonight?" He regretted it the instant he said it. She didn't answer for a while, and he moved away, his body tense. What a stupid question. Of course she was lying about Blaise. She just didn't want him to hurt her, that was all.

Then she was next to him, warm and soft, her head butting against his arm, trying to get into his embrace. He was getting soft, he thought, trying not to cry. Part of him was so scared, so scared that he'd die alone, and never have known anything about life at all. Her arm was across his chest, her legs twining with his. For this, for this moment, he would've sworn his life to her.

He just didn't accept that he already had.

* * *

A/N: Hope you all like it. It's not really so plot-tastic, but it's a fun chappie. Was interesting to write. The story is complete, my friends. It's only 8 chapters long. Hopefully I'll have them edited and up soon. Enjoy. And thanks for all the reviews! 


	7. And I Hope To God He Was Worth It

Chapter Seven -- And I Hope To God He Was Worth It

After months of planning, it was finalized. Hermione had managed to wiggle herself into the plans, if only so that she wouldn't be left at home without protection. Draco didn't really have a wand she could use, and even if he had, there wasn't any protection against the killing curse. That was the last thing he wanted.

The cuddling had become a routine, sometimes for large parts of the night, or only for reassurance before rolling to their own sides to sleep. Draco loved his evenings like that. They were the times where he felt okay with the chances he was taking. And boy, was he taking some chances.

Blaise had proved to be useful, managing to gain them some semi-powerful allies who would be helping in small ways. Not enough to get them killed if they failed, but enough to make a difference for Draco and Blaise.

Draco and Blaise had agreed on one thing, and only one, throughout the whole of the planning. Neither wanted to leave Hermione alone, or bring her with them. It was strange, and Blaise had been tempted to change his stance on it just to rile up Draco a bit more. But he resisted. That man's blood pressure was probably already off the charts.

Everything went according to plan. The charms and defenses taken down, guards removed. The three of them made it to the throne room, as Blaise so charmingly dubbed it, in one piece. There'd been a scary moment when Blaise had lost his wand, but he'd repaired that by hitting the man in the face with his fist. Hermione had been stunned, but she supposed it was only fair. Right?

Draco and Blaise entered, Hermione in the rear. She was standing in the doorway, waiting.

The room was empty.

Eventually, Voldemort entered. He was laughing. Draco eyed Blaise warily, both men holding their wands out, watching Voldemort with the most intent of gazes. "Oh, Draco, you're so predictable." He grinned at them, flashing a smile. Hermione had to admit he was almost handsome. He'd changed a lot, that was for sure. But still… the thoughts of what he'd done to her still remained. She swallowed hard. "I'll be able to kill one of you before you kill me. You know this, yes?" His eyes were dead, so flat and dark. Hermione was suddenly glad that Blaise's were always laughing. It made him that much more real. "Which will it be, hm? Zabini?" Voldemort laughed again, his eyes hardening into glistening agates as he nodded slowly.

Hermione screamed then. The man that grabbed her from behind had scared the wits out of her. She hadn't seen him. He was wearing all black, his arm around her, a knife at her side.

Voldemort picked up a glass, taking a sip. "Knives, they're more sure than wands, you know." The man was dragging Hermione up to Voldemort's chair. Blaise and Draco watched, not knowing what to do. Hermione would die, she would. Draco wouldn't do that. He couldn't. Hermione came first. He knew that, now. "You took longer than I thought to do this, Malfoy. I'd thought for sure you'd try sooner. I could almost see you grinding your teeth at night, waiting." He paused for a second, eyeing Blaise. "But Zabini, I never guessed you for this… You know, Malfoy's as good as dead. That means I'll be in need of someone willing to be my cohort…" Voldemort let the words hang in the air.

Blaise swallowed, looking from Voldemort to Hermione. "On one condition."

Draco swore. That two-coated bastard. He should've guessed, he should've known.

Voldemort laughed more, this time bending at the waist, holding his stomach. "For her? For this piece of mudblood trash you'll turn on Malfoy?" He took another drink, looking to the man holding Hermione. Blaise's wand moved to Draco as Hermione was pushed over to Blaise. She was on the floor, having landed hard on her hip. She groaned softly, looking up from pain glazed eyes to Draco.

"Do it." She whispered, mouthing the words more than anything else. It hurt to breathe. Her and Draco's deaths would as least insure that someone other than Voldemort would be in charge… but did she really want to die and leave the wizard world with Blaise as a ruler? Now that was scary.

Draco looked to Blaise, hesitant. Blaise talked as he held his wand at Draco. His brows raised as he told him, his eyes dancing. "Remember, Draco. When we go into the fire, we have to breathe the smoke. Sometimes it kills you. Sometimes… sometimes it kills others." Draco stared at him, letting it sink in.

That two-toned bastard. He would kill him.

Then, he realized what Blaise was saying. Oh dear Merlin, have mercy on us all.

A/N: So here's chapter seven. After this, there's one more chapter. Don't worry, it's fairly long. Thank you everyone, for tagging along. I don't know what I'll spend all my spare time doing after this fic is done and up! I guess I just need to write another one, eh? Any requests on the pairing? Another DM/HG? Thanks - Sketchy 


	8. Will You Dance To This Beat?

Chapter Eight -- Will You Dance To This Beat?

Multiple flashes of green light filled the room then, the walls bright and tainted by it. All Hermione could hear was the roar of power, bouncing in the room. When the dust settled, she stared up from her place on the ground. Voldemort was dead, Draco's wand pointing at him still. He was shaking, trembling. Blaise was kicking at the man in black he'd killed, looking disgusted.

Draco looked to Blaise, his face pale. "You bastard. You had me convinced."

Blaise laughed softly, looking at Hermione who was now sitting up at least. "I would've done it, to save you." He was talking to her, not even including Draco in the conversation.

Hermione looked at him uncomfortably. Dead bodies, heroes, and the heroine. She sighed. What a world they lived in.

It was sinking in that they'd done it, when a confused looking woman ran into the room. Blaise killed her on sight. "That was for Sirius, you bitch." He kicked the still-grinning corpse as he looked at Draco, who's mouth was hanging open. "What? He was a friend of the family."

Hermione recognized it as Bellatrix and crawled a few feet to puke not so quietly next to the wall. She didn't know why she felt like this -- she knew Voldemort would've done much worse to her, if he'd been given the chance. The man in black, she didn't even know. Bellatrix… well. She was one of Voldemort's lackeys. Swallowing hard, she wiped the back of her hand and sleeve over her mouth, trying to gain some footing with what was going on. "Well, boys. Now what?"

When they both smiled, she groaned. Boys will be boys.

* * *

"Draco, you can't suddenly just hand the reigns to the post! They'll murder us. They'll raise mobs to take us down." Blaise was quite exasperated as he sat in Draco's study, watching Draco write out his letter.

"It'll be fine. After all, we're letting Hermione do most of the business. They like Hermione. She was a prisoner, remember?" Draco continued writing, staring intently as he signed his name with a little less flourish than usual.

Hermione had remained living with him, but it was tenser around the house now. Blaise had offered her a room at his house, and Draco had left to go kill something, anything. But when he'd returned, Hermione had still been there, drawing in her sketch pad, asking him gently what he wanted for dinner. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve her trust, but he would never betray it, that was for sure. And if she'd chosen to go with Blaise, he would've let her.

He wanted her happy.

Hermione had stayed with him simply because she wasn't ready for change yet. Well, that's what she told herself, anyhow. She knew there were other reasons, other things that kept her to this place. But she wouldn't admit them.

And so, the press was released from the fist of dictatorship. It was a glorious day, the first article being renumbered, to signify the new beginning. On the front page was a picture of Blaise, Draco, and Hermione. The heading read: 'Unlikely Trio Defeats Voldemort.' It went on to tell of their plotting. It mentioned nothing of what Hermione had sacrificed, to what Draco had swallowed to get through this. It told nothing of the fear of being noticed, of being discovered. It spoke only of victories.

The highlight of the article was a quote from Hermione. 'Hogwarts will be reopening this fall. There will also be a resting place made for each person who was… lost in the war.' The interview cut off there, because she'd stopped talking. She knew only too well what it was like to be one of those people who had no place to mourn for their lost ones.

* * *

Hogwarts reopening was a successful celebration. Families from all over came with their children for a feast, a feast that people had never dreamed of before. There was laughing, joy, and eating. The sorting house took place, the family members sitting at the house tables with the newly accepted children, laughing and crying. Their children would have a future, and that was more than they ever could have hoped for.

The new headmaster stood, clearing his throat. He clapped his hands, looking over the groups of students. "For those who don't know me… My name is Blaise Zabini… I'm overwhelmed to be chosen for this position, and I promise to give my all to uphold it… as only Dumbledore would have." He swallowed hard. This school brought back so much. "There are some new additions to the staff that I'd like to welcome to you, this year. Hagrid will be returning to his prior job. You're new potions master will be none other than Draco Malfoy. Transfiguration will be taught by our very own, lovely Hermione Granger. Defense against the Dark Arts…"

His voice went on, but Hermione didn't pay attention. She hadn't eaten with the staff -- she still had unfinished business that wouldn't let her rest just yet. The Weasley twins had managed to pull through, as well as Oliver Wood. When she'd seen him, she had just held him and they both cried, right there in the hallway. Only two people who had so barely survived Voldemort would know what it was like. To be okay again. To be able to sleep at night, between the nightmares. To have the nightmares fade. It was more than they'd ever hoped for. And the twins… Seeing them reunited had made her cry, too.

This was all so much more than they could've hoped for.

Silently, quiet as snow falling, Hermione made her way out back. A large plot not far from Hogwarts had been made into a place for those who had fought to defend it and all it stood for. The bundle of flowers she held was spread over so many graves, the tears falling silently. Her hand brushed gravestones softly, a sweet caress to those who had died trying. She smiled bitterly, passing by them slowly, reading them. Severus Snape: a master of potions, whose help we never could've survived without, Albus Dumbledore: who believed in everyone, no matter who they were, Neville Longbottom: who could tell you anything about plants, Padma & Parvati, McGonagall, Dean Thomas… So many happy faces torn from her life. Well, except Snape. She choked back a sob.

When she reached Harry's and Ron's markers, she broke. She fell to her knees, looking at the graves of her two best friends, the boys who had taken her in, who had put up with her. "I did it, boyos, I did it." She choked out the words, placing the last flowers beside their graves. Then she cried, and finally mourned for the men who had been so prominent in her life. She'd done a lot to get here, to be okay. Without their help earlier, all those adventures… she never could've done it, and she knew it.

* * *

The school year wound on as it always did. Teaching was exactly what Hermione wanted to do. Life was awkward, for a while. There had been a big debate about teaching history. Did children need to know about this horror? The years of people's lives that'd been taken and put into enslavement? Finally, it won out that they would. These children had seen it first hand; they deserved to know. Hermione and a few of the other teachers worked together to write a history of the happenings as best as they could. Hermione left out a few minor details, but for the most part… it was all there.

People called her a hero, Draco a saint, and Blaise a gift. Blaise… good old Blaise. He was just as bad as he was before, making bets with students about teachers, handing out treats, flirting with the girls, and giving advice to the boys. Everyone loved him.

He still looked at her with those eyes, those eyes that stripped her where she stood, taking off the robes slowly. He'd lick his lips and smile at her, the lust in his eyes making her shiver.

As the Head of Gryffindor, she was forced to face Draco now and again. He was, after all, Head of Slytherin. Things were different between them now. It was standard that he avoided her, and she avoided him. When they were forced to meet, they'd be around each other only as long as they were forced to, and utter politeness was all that was given to each other. Blaise would sometimes amuse himself by calling just the two of them to a meeting in his quarters. He knew it made them uncomfortable.

After an unsettling encounter with Draco one night in the hallway, Hermione had wandered down to Blaise's quarters. He'd welcomed her in, his eyes dancing as she told him. "Make me yours tonight, please." She didn't know what to do anymore. Between Blaise's eyes and her own panicky feelings anytime she thought about Draco…

Blaise watched her for a moment, scrutinizing her for a second, before laughing and shaking his head. "After all this time, Hermione, you don't get it, do you?"

She stared at him blankly.

He explained, slowly and clearly, just to be an ass about it all. "We who are Michez's owners, we long for pain just as much as the ability to give it. Denying myself you is one of my larger pains. It's delectable, in it's own way. I know I could have you; you even confirmed that tonight." He reached over, cupping her cheek in his hand as he kissed her faintly, "But you forgot that above all, I want you happy. I want to spare you pain. I'm the only one allowed to give you pain… you shouldn't hurt yourself more than I do."

Hermione whimpered at the kiss, wanting more, and irritated for being denied.

"He's waiting for you, Hermione. I promise you, he is." Blaise relaxed back into his chair, waving his hand at her in a dismissive matter. "Go on now, go to your own bed and think about it. You'll get it, eventually."

And so she left his room. What else could she do?

Blaise slammed back another shot of his drink. He didn't want to be aware, not tonight. Not after what he'd turned down. That bastard better not fuck it up. Not if he was giving this up for them. He stared at his glass, toying with the bottle. Hopefully they'd figure it out. And if not, more meetings would have to be called between Slytherin and Gryffindor. He grinned, a stupid grin as he took a drink directly from the bottle. Oh yes, that would be fun.

Hermione didn't go to sleep that night. Instead, she monitored the halls with an almost perverse sense of duty as she struggled with herself. Of course he was talking about Draco, of course he was. He wouldn't mention anyone else to her like that.

When someone relieved her of her duties, she finally went to her bed, mentally, and physically exhausted. She had been with Draco before because she had to be. She hadn't had a choice in it. Some little voice in her mind quietly reminded her of what he'd done for her. She decided that would be a good time to fall asleep.

A couple evenings later, she was walking again, wandering around aimlessly. She'd made it a habit. She felt vulnerable if she stayed still for too long. She eventually ended up where Draco's rooms were located, just like every other night before this. She knew, because Blaise had mentioned it to her, casually, one evening. He'd also mentioned the password.

She felt strange, like an intruder. But she continued to whisper the password anyhow. "Hermione Granger." The portrait swung open, giving her access to his living quarters. They were nicer than the house that they'd lived in had been. She walked around, feeling out of her own body almost as she brushed her fingertips lightly against the tables, the photo frames that held newspaper clippings of them.

"Who in the hell -- Blaise -- I thought I told you to stop coming in without knock --" His words cut off as he stepped out from behind the door, staring at Hermione. He looked so scared, standing with a towel around his waist, his hair wet from the shower he'd apparently just had.

"Granger..?" He squinted at her. "Is something wrong?" He had already assumed how she'd gotten into his rooms. He was going to have to have a word with Blaise about that eventually.

"I… I didn't want to sleep alone tonight, Malfoy." She was slightly defensive. Hermione couldn't help but feel like she'd been caught doing something wrong, something bad. She bit her bottom lip gently, looking up at him. "Please, Draco." Her words were quiet, but Draco still heard them.

He didn't answer her, but instead nodded slowly, holding out his hand. "The bed's this way," he muttered, pulling her towards it.

And that was when the Potions teacher and the Transfiguration teacher started sleeping in the same quarters.

* * *

What had started out as cuddling, turned into other things during the months that passed. The students still stared at them in disbelief when they walked by, shoulder to shoulder, but never holding hands. Blaise watched, and was happy. That lust was still in his eyes, Hermione could see it. But it no longer was as evident.

On a particular night, after some fun, Draco had rolled over onto her, tracing a finger down her chin, as he asked her, like he had once upon a time, "Granger, do you love me?"

And she replied with a flashy smile, much like Blaise's: "No, but you'll do." But her eyes, and the kiss that she gave him, told him something else entirely.

* * *

The students noticed something different about them then, how they were around others. Relaxed. When Blaise took an opportunity one evening at dinner to announce their relationship, Draco didn't even get flustered. Instead, his hand snuck under the table to grab Hermione's, and gently squeeze it. He'd known for months that he was hers; that she was all he could ever want.

How when they'd finally had sex again, he'd whispered to her, his eyes full of emotion, "Tell me everything you want me to be."

And she had lifted her hips, kissing him, and whispering on his lips: "Mine."

* * *

Near the end of the school year, they both went to visit the gravesite. Hermione went out there on a semi-regular basis, to think, to clear her mind, to say hello and good bye to old friends. Draco seemed more nervous on this occasion. She couldn't figure out why. She knew it was almost grading period, but Draco had always pushed it off until Blaise started prodding at him.

They brought flowers, spreading them around. Hermione stared wistfully at the chisled names on each stone, committing them to memory. No matter where she went, she would always remember these people.

She turned, moving to stand back by Draco, when he did something totally unexpected. He got down on one knee, and pulled a box from his coat pocket. "Granger… I only do this, so that you can't call me Malfoy with such distaste. Because you'll be one too."

* * *

And that summer, they got married. Hogwarts, in it's entirety, was in attendance. Blaise oversaw everything, publicly asking in his speech if he could borrow Hermione for a night (Draco responded by throwing a glass at him, while Hermione blushed), and made a general happy get together of it. Oliver Wood stood as Best Man, and Cho Chang stood as Maid of Honor. It was a good wedding, one that Hermione had dreamed of. Draco had the money to make it happen, but they didn't pay for anything.

They were heroes, and this was their wedding day.

* * *

As they walked along, holding hands in a shy sort of way, they stopped along the top of a small hill. Beyond the wedding area, grass rolled for miles. Hermione squeezed Draco's hand. "We're lucky, you know." She was still thinking about the wedding kiss. It'd been lovely.

"Yeah. We are."

So the two figures stood, in the dappled sunlight, watching the wind play chase in the grass. Two figures who'd somehow managed to defeat crippling odds, and had somehow managed to love each other.

"Where to now, Malfoy?" Hermione asked quietly.

He grinned at her, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her. "Where ever you want, Malfoy."

* * *

The End? 7/31/06 A/N: Well, I hope you all enjoyed the story... sorry it took me so utterly long to update the last chapter. My wifi wasn't being all that nice. I hope you all decide to tag along for the next story I'm working on... I don't think there'll be a sequel. Maybe I'll do a spin off of Lips of an Angel? I've got another story I'm writing between Hermione and Draco at the moment, though I've got to see where it goes. There's also a Harry / Draco one that I've been working on. So, we'll see. Oh, also posted another song fic... it's not a main-char based one though. It's Draco / Original Character. But, hopefully it's decent. Enjoy, all, and thanks for the reviews and support! (Oh, any requests?) 


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